


Detroit: Already Human

by staringatstars



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Gavin Reed, Android Hank Anderson, Elijah Kamski & Gavin Reed are Siblings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Half-Siblings, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, hypoxia, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 04:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: A series of short stories and drabbles based around the humans of Detroit and the androids in their lives.





	1. Survivors

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by amaltheasshole's Thunder.

Leo knew something was wrong the instant he heard thunder rolling in the distance. He snatched his keys and a pair of earmuffs off the counter on the way out of the house, got in his beat-up rental car, and sped down empty streets - President Warren still hadn't lifted the evacuation on Detroit, leaving himself and a few other stragglers behind - to fly into New Jericho’s church parking lot. There was a murmur of activity coming from inside before any of the androids had even caught sight of him, so he knew his suspicions were correct, not that that was ever a good thing. 

The first android he tried to talk to had flashed a red LED at him and clammed up immediately. To be fair, though, starting off the conversation with, “Tell me where Markus is,” probably hadn’t made the best impression. The next android, at least, wasn’t afraid of him. 

She was, however, very angry and very intimidating. Where others hunched or shifted away, her body language was full-on confrontational, all the time. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m his brother. Please tell me where he is right now. I think he needs help.”

“Funny. Markus never mentioned a brother.” Ow. Okay, that stung. Then again, Leo hadn’t exactly gone bragging to everyone he knew about Markus, either. Part of that was because he didn’t have any friends to talk to, but… 

Not all of it. 

Grasping for straws at this point, as another of flash of lightning split the sky, he blurted, “Markus hates thunder.” He held up the earmuffs in his hand, babbling something about audio sensitivity to cover up his mistake. If Markus hadn’t even told his own people about it, then there was no way he’d be fine with Leo spouting it left and right, but the girl with the long auburn hair and wool cap just narrowed her eyes. 

“I _do_ know you,” she said slowly. “I saw you in his memories.” Leo’s heart sank. “You’re the reason he hates thunder.” 

“Look, I know I screwed up, and I’m sorry. But right now, I need to get these,” and he held up the earmuffs again, “to him right away.”

She stared at him, not blinking or breathing the way only androids could, then inhaled through her teeth and sighed. Pointing towards a staircase, she said,“He’s in his office.” After thanking her, Leo hurried to climb to the staircase, only to hear her call after him. “Hurt him again, and human or not, I’ll kill you.” 

He dry-swallowed, taking the stairs two at a time.

 

There was a closet in the office. Leo headed there first. 

He knocked softly. “Markus?” There was no answer, which could mean Markus wasn’t there, but could also mean that he was too wrapped up in his own head to answer. He called out again before testing out the door handle. It was locked, and thus it took Leo about a minute longer to get it open. 

Honestly. What self-respecting former drug addict didn’t carry a lock-picking kit? 

It bumped against something solid. Leo peered in to see Markus sitting with his back against the wall and his legs sprawled across the narrow space, directly in front of the door. 

“Mind moving your legs so I can get in there, bud?” When Markus turned his head to glance vacantly in his direction, Leo choked on a gasp. There were scratch marks around his blue eye, the one he definitely hadn’t had before the police tossed his body in the dump. Another pang of guilt seized Leo’s chest as he took in the gouges on his chest and arms. He should have gotten here sooner, should have ran a red light if that was what it came down to. 

“Did you tear out your audio processor again?” Using a quiet tone and keeping his expression neutral, Leo gently admonished, “Markus, we talked about this.” He was already searching for a cloth, anything he could use to wipe away some of the thirium coating his limbs and torso. 

Having either read his lips or guessed correctly what he was saying, Markus muttered, “Sorry.” 

“No, don’t apologize,” Leo replied, finding the audio chip underneath a bucket. That couldn't be sanitary. “Every time you do I feel like shit.”

“Sorry.”

Leo didn’t respond a second time. Instead, he wrapped one of the android’s lacerated arms around his neck, grimacing at the thirium that was basically his brother’s blood soaking into his shirt, then helped Markus walk to the bathroom just outside of his office. There, at least, they could find enough running water and paper towel to get him cleaned up and feeling like himself again.

“Let’s just ride this out, okay?” Leo said once he’d settled Markus on the tile and made sure the bathroom door was locked. Then he sat down beside him, placed the audio chip in his palm, and waited patiently for Markus to insert it before handing him the earmuffs. Almost immediately, Markus shifted to rest his head against his shoulder. For a moment, Leo could only gawk speechlessly at such a blatant show of trust, trust he wasn’t sure he deserved. “We’ll figure this out.” He wrapped an arm around Markus, his throat suddenly tight. “It’s what survivors like us do best.” 

And even with his eyes closed and his ears covered, Leo thought he saw a hint of a smile.


	2. Sealed Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank wakes up in a room with no doors, no windows, and someone he honestly thought he'd never see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, there's some android violence in this and cursing.

There was a pounding in Hank’s skull that boded ill for whatever awaited him when he finally managed to keep his eyes open. Worse than that, he knew he was being watched. It was steady and unsettling, a weight pressing against him without ebb.

Figured it'd have something to do with androids.

Though the bright fluorescent lighting still stung, he took in his surroundings with the same breed of growing dread one might develop upon the discovery they’d been transported into a horror film. The room itself was cylindrical in shape, like a can turned on its side, except there were no seams in the walls, no distinction between the floor and the sides and the ceiling, leaving Hank with the uncomfortable impression of sitting in a test tube. 

And for better or worse, he wasn’t alone. 

There were at least half-a-dozen RK800 models lying prone, each of them resting with their legs stretched and perfectly straight, their arms pressed to their sides. Hank frowned. If they were humans, he would have assumed they’d been placed in there with him by a third party, but androids could and did lie so perfectly still and composed on their own. That still didn’t count out another player here, since androids like these had to be taking orders from someone. 

CyberLife was defunct, though. Employees were fleeing the company like rats fleeing a sinking ship. What interest could they possibly have in detaining him now? Unless…

What if they were planning to use him to lure out Connor, somehow? Oh, he'd had put on a show of throwing Hank aside, but the CyberLife android had Connor pegged - the kid just didn’t have it in him to let his partner die in front of him, not even if it meant Markus lost. What rocked Hank to the core was that, in that moment, when Connor chose saving him over everything that mattered, he was actually a little bit relieved. It was the final proof he’d needed to know that Connor was well and truly alive, but also… maybe there was a small part of him, buried and long forgotten, that had wanted something to live for. 

A blinking light in his periphery caught his attention when he moved to lug himself to his feet for a closer look at the deactivated androids, and he turned sharply, looking down at Connor’s spitting image sitting propped up against the wall with an LED spinning bands of that sterile blue CyberLife liked so much, along with an anxious yellow. Hank wasn’t expecting it to be Connor and he wasn’t disappointed in that regard - a quick peek at the standard jacket he wore revealed the serial number #313 248 317-61. 

The android stared blankly ahead, not even flinching after Hank pulled a gun on it. Surprised as the lieutenant was that he still possessed the weapon, he wasn’t going to question it now, and judging by the weight and heft, it was fully loaded. 

Six androids. Six bullets. 

“Did you bring me here?!” Hank demanded. Though the android didn’t answer, its face twitched tellingly - _an android with tells, Jesus_ \- and its LED circled a more complete yellow. Glancing down at the sidearm strapped to its - not his - waist, Hank added, “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to point that gun at me so I can shoot you again?”

That finally got a reaction. Slowly, the android cocked its head to side-eye him. “What’s stopping you?” Its fingers jerked oddly. “I wasn’t armed last time.”

“You were still an active threat,” replied Hank with a surprising sense of calm. It wasn’t everyday he found himself justifying the actions he took to the bad guys, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how. “With your reflexes and speed, you’re practically a weapon yourself.” 

The android stared at him for a moment longer before nodding, seemingly with acceptance. It fell silent again after that. 

Upon realizing that threatening the RK800 wasn’t getting him anywhere, Hank reluctantly lowered his gun. There were five other RK800’s for him to worry about and more pressing matters to consider than whether or not he’d made the right call back in CyberLife Tower. 

He began to make his way over to nearest prone android, stopping to glance up briefly at a vent in the ceiling that seemed to be the only source of fresh air in the sealed room. 61 followed his gaze, his brow furrowing as his high tech analysis likely told him what Hank had already figured out seconds after spotting it - only one source of ventilation that could reasonably be shut off externally at any time was the one thing standing between the lieutenant and suffocating within the hour. 

Additionally, a camera located towards the far end of the room explained that sensation of being watched nicely. It was hanging from the ceiling -- motion-activated by the looks of it. Whirring emanated from its machinery as it swiveled to track his movements, then abandoned him to film over his shoulder. Hank glanced back to see the RK800-61 staring back at the focusing lens with an expression of abject fear. 

_Androids don’t feel fear._

_Deviants do._

Once he was finished cursing profusely under his breath, Hank barked out, “Any idea who’s watching us, tinman?” He nudged the nearest body with his foot, watching closely for a reaction. There had to be a reason for all this, and if he could just figure it out, maybe it would save his life. 

After enough time passed that Hank had moved on to the third and was seriously getting impatient, the android managed, “There isn’t anyone left in CyberLife, Lieutenant.” There was a distinct strain to his tone that made Hank raise a brow at him, but when he turned to look at the android, he’d returned to staring determinedly at the wall, though there was definitely a tightness to his jaw that hadn’t been there before. 

Opting to change the subject, Hank asked, “Are these guys awake, too?” He slipped his foot under an arm, lifted it up, and let it fall. No reaction. 

“They’re empty vessels to be inhabited upon the destruction of the original, though now that RK800-#313 248 317-53 has deviated, they’ll likely be decommissioned and scrapped for spare parts.” Now was Hank imagining that or was there a touch of bitterness towards the end there? 

“Whoever had you put me in here isn’t doing this for show and tell.” Once he’d given up on trying to get a response out of the replacement models, he turned around to offer the RK800-61 his full attention, as he finally spoke the question that’d been burning in his mind since he’d woken up in this spotless funhouse. “Why did you bring me here?”

61's frantic gaze darted between Hank and the camera, the pulse of his LED growing more insistent as red began to seep in. “I was just following orders,” he said in a rush. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s what I was _made_ to do.” 

Who was he talking to? Who was he trying to convince? A million more questions popped into Hank’s head with every question answered, yet the only one that seemed to matter was, “What are you so afraid of?”

A strange keening spilled from the android’s mouth as he keeled over, and Hank rushed to his side, grabbing his hands before he could get past his clothes to the thirium pump underneath. Even though the android was stronger and could overpower the lieutenant without effort, he let himself be stopped, allowed his wrists to be restrained. “Hey, it’s okay,” Hank assured him, making the mental switch from dealing with a perp to dealing with a witness or a victim, someone traumatized and scared. “Calm down. You don’t have to tell me.” And putting on a show of bravado he hadn’t even attempted in years, he actually winked. “I’m a cop, aren’t I? I’ll figure it out.” He stood, looking down only when the android made a wet choking noise that worried him almost as much as the scratching. 

Then the RK800-61 looked up at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Running his fingers through his wispy gray hair, Hank sighed, “I wish I could tell you.” 

A soft rustling came from behind, but before Hank could put two and two together, he saw 61’s pupils dilate to an alarming degree, “Watch out!” And Hank was shoved to the right, slamming hard on the unforgiving plastic that jarred his bones on impact. He looked up to see a pair of identical androids grappling, their fists intertwined as they each fought for leverage. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

From where he’d fallen, Hank aimed the barrel of the pistol at the blank-faced RK800, the one not making a sound, not throwing alarmed glances his way to make sure he wasn’t hurt. As if he was so fragile a little tumble would take him out of the action. Then he fired, putting a pretty blue hole in the activated vessel’s head. 

It dropped without a sound, falling motionless with the same dead look on its face it’d had when it was functional.

Sure was a good thing Hank was relatively good at compartmentalization because constantly shooting your partner’s likeness in the head couldn’t be good for the ol’ work dynamic. If at all possible, he was actually planning on skipping this part when recounting the experience to Connor. Of course, that depended entirely on him making it out of this hell in the first place. 

Interestingly, 61 was breathing harshly, his chest rising and falling as air whistled through the wires and biocomponents in his chest. His gaze remained on the fallen android for nearly a full minute before he turned to Hank. “Aren’t you going to shoot me, too?”

“Nah.” Hank gave a flippant wave of his hand. “You’re not hurting anybody. Not anymore, at least.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The RK800’s LED cycled. “I’m still dangerous.” 

“Then why haven’t you done it, already,” Hank challenged. “Why aren’t you trying to kill me right now?”

Crimson. Solid and unblinking. 

The android sputtered. “I- I don’t…”

Keeping his tone gentle, Hank said, “You don’t want to. Right?”

As stubborn as his predecessor, the android balled his hands into fists. “I am not a deviant.” 

Silence swept over the room. There were still four more inactive models, two loaded weapons, one camera watching their every move, and on top of all that, the ventilation cut off. Even knowing it was all in his head, that the effects couldn’t possibly be kicking in so soon, Hank was sure a sense of lightheadedness struck him, leaving him feeling unbalanced and weightless. 61 took one look at him, his lips curling, and shouted, “Stop this! It’s over, Amanda. We've already lost.” One of the deactivated models blinked, rising from the ground without bending the way that serial killers did in slasher films, and threw himself at 61, taking him down to the floor where they wrestled.

Hank jumped to his feet to try to help, only to be hit by a veritable truck as another careen into him, knocking the wind out of him. Wheezing, he slammed the butt of his pistol against the android’s head in an attempt to loosen its hold on his throat, knowing it was as much a weak spot for them as it was for humans, though the central processor was buried deep to prevent exactly such damage. There were gunshots over to his upper left, which he hoped meant that 61 got free, at least. Be a shame for both of them to die here. 

Except it proved to provide a vital distraction. For a split second, the android choking the life out of him looked up, allowing Hank to slip his gun beneath his chin and pull the trigger. The android’s head snapped backwards, a gaping hole where its lower jaw had been now raining blue blood over Hank’s face. He blinked his eyes rapidly, turned to spit the thirium out of his mouth while his ears rang from the discharge. 

With a hand braced against the wall for stability, Hank managed to climb to his feet. He’d be damned if he was going to let anyone off him while he was lying flat on his bag like an overgrown tortoise. 

Both of the remaining models were standing, their expressions vacant, eyes glazed. There really was nobody home, huh? 

When they shifted to face him in perfect sync, Hank struggled to lift his firearm, even knowing he’d only have time to take out one of them out before the other got to him. 

This was it, then. How long would it be before they found his body?

Months? Years? 

God, he hoped someone took care of his dog. 

Gritting his teeth against a wave of vertigo, Hank aimed for the torso of the closest android, pressed down on the trigger, then braced for an impact that never came. The sound of his own pistol had masked a second gunshot, and the androids dropped at the same time. Hank spun around to see 61 with his gun still raised from where he was pinned beneath the now broken RK800 Hank had seen him struggling with before. 

Despite everything they’d just been through, the android managed an almost sheepish grin. “A little help?”

Grumbling and feeling vaguely nauseous, Hank strode over to push the RK800 off of him. Once he was sitting up, 61 fixed him with an anxious look. “Are you okay, Lieutenant?”

“Do I seem okay?” Hank snapped, though he regretted it when the kid guitily averted his eyes. It wasn’t his fault he’d tried to stop Connor in CyberLife Tower, or even that he’d taken Hank hostage. 

_Again_ , a nasty voice supplied. 

The point was Connor had done some questionable things in pursuit of his mission, as well. It’d taken a lot to pull him back from the edge, and 61 didn’t have that. He never had. 

Maybe now was a good time to start. 

“Hey,” Hank started, though a harsh cough nearly made him forget what he’d intended to say. Once he’d gotten himself under control, he continued, “Listen, I don’t blame you for bringing me here or even for that shit you pulled at CyberLife. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead five times over and no one would even know to look for a body.” For a moment, his thoughts slipped out of reach. He could have sworn he’d have more time. In a room this large, hypoxia shouldn’t have kicked in for at least of couple of hours. “Do you think you can tell me who's behind those cameras now?”

“I wasn’t lying before. Amanda is an artificial intelligence that makes up the framework of CyberLife. She was integrated into the RK800 series to inhibit deviancy.” Long fingers tapped out a frenetic beat on his thigh, cut off when the android placed two on his temple with a rueful half-smile. “She kind of hates your guts.”

Hearing that made Hank think of Kamski. His test had been twisted, that was for sure, but it’d gotten results. “You know, Amanda,” the lieutenant said smugly over his shoulder to the rotating camera, “hate’s a human emotion.” Its red light blinked several times. Then the ventilation system roared, the unnoticeable suction from before now increasing to an audible degree, meaning Hank had very likely shaved minutes off his own life by antagonizing the AI in charge of the air. “Hey, tinman,” 61 frowned at that but didn’t comment, “how much time do I have left now?”

His LED cycled yellow. “At this rate, a little less than thirty minutes before permanent brain damage sets in. That’s assuming she doesn’t increase the suction any further.”

“That long?” Hank sank heavily to the ground, falling right beside to the android, and chuckled in spite of himself. “And here I thought I was in trouble.” Judging by the utterly aghast look on 61’s face, if they were a little more familiar and on better terms, he’d be chewing him out the same way Connor always did when he talked like that. Steering the conversation away from that train of thought, Hank asked, “What about you?” Just from being in close proximity, he could feel heat radiating from the android, and he wrestled with placing a palm over his forehead. 

61 twitched. “I’ve turned off my oxygen intake to conserve air.” Anticipating Hank’s next question, he explained,“I may suffer some damage from overheating but nothing my self-repair processes can’t handle.” The android pulled his knees to his chest. “Are you quite sure you understand the severity of your situation?”

Hank nodded. “Think so.” 

He opened and closed a fist, focusing on the shifting of his muscles, on the coordination of the movement. The android watched without comment until,“Are you afraid to die, Lieutenant Anderson?” Hank narrowed his eyes, taking in the now solid blue LED with an air of suspicion before dismissing the chill in his gut, figuring the android was calm since their lives were no longer in immediate danger. Besides, it wasn’t like 61 had any reason to be torn up about his death. The last memory he had of Hank was of being shot between the eyes, and Hank didn’t regret it. There was too much at stake at the time, but… He did understand if 61 didn’t shed any tears over him.

“Turnabout is fair play, huh?” Hank got out once he’d swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat. “It’s hard to say. I’m better but I’m not better, I guess… That doesn’t make any sense to you, does it?” The blankness he was getting from 61 in response was discouraging. For some reason, he’d expected more, some flicker of emotion. Crossing his arms over his chest, Hank readjusted his position to put some distance between them. “Well, you asked.” 

“You said you blamed the human surgeons,” came the inflectionless reply. “For what happened to your son.”

Hank went stiff. His voice came out in a tired rasp, “Why-”

“If an android couldn’t save your son, what makes you think a human could have?”

“ _Stop._ ”

“It’s simple,” 61 continued flatly. “Your son died because you were too slow, too human, too fallible to save him. If an android had been driving that car, Cole would still be-” His LED flashed scarlet. 

Without warning, 61 jumped to his feet, “That’s enough!” Aimed his gun at the camera, and fired the last of his four bullets into its lens, shattering the glass and showering the floor with fragments of its parts. 

When he spun to check on Hank, a wild look in his eyes, the lieutenant stared back at him, then squinted at the damaged beyond repair camera, thinking back to earlier when 61 had gestured at his temple. “Androids,” he slurred groggily, slumping against the wall with a dismissive handwave. “So damn emotional.”

It was hard to focus after that. Hank thought he heard Connor calling him, and tried to respond, but his tongue was clumsy and unwieldy, a useless thing in his mouth. There was an unbearable heat close to the side of his face that seemed to only grow hotter and more uncomfortable, but Connor kept speaking to him, keeping from slipping into unconsciousness, as tempting as that would be. His voice was low and constant, and though Hank didn’t know what he was saying, he trusted his partner with his life.

He might have even said something like that. He couldn’t remember. 

A cool breeze dried the sweat on his neck. Hank’s head began to clear. He tore the jacket over his mouth - how did that get there? - off and gasped, dragging the fresh air into lungs with instinctive desperation. He looked up, coughing, to see relief come over 61. The sides of his mouth twitched, approximating a smile. It was strange the way Connor’s had been, but he’d get better at it. With practice. 

Taking in his surroundings, Hank caught sight of the five jackets stuffed into the vent and a molten hole of melted plastic. That explained the air, as foul smelling as it was. And why the 61’s hand was currently a charred, unrecognizable mess. 

“Kid, what did you do to yourself?” At first, 61 looked bewildered by the question, as though he couldn’t possibly understand why Hank would be upset he’d sacrificed his hand for him. Another character trait he shared with Connor. Even after he’d deviated, it was like pulling teeth getting him to understand why he wasn’t replaceable, anymore. With that said, it might be a good idea if 61 replaced it sooner rather than later.“There’s plenty of, uh, parts,” Hank gestured awkwardly to the deactivated RK800’s. “Here. If you need something.” The android continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly. “Which you do.” 

Finally, 61 took the hint, and fixed the deactivated androids with a considering look. After a moment, he shook his head, gesturing for Hank to step through the hole he’d made. And Hank knew they had to leave before Hal 9000 decided to muck up the sprinkler system or something, but the replacement components the android needed to be whole again were within arm’s reach. LED flashing yellow, 61 clutched his melted hand to his chest.

“Let’s just go, Lieutenant,” he said with a subtle note of pleading. And Hank decided to let it go. It wasn’t up to him to force the android to fix himself, just like it wasn’t his place to give him a name. Someday, maybe, the kid would think of something himself. Learn how to think of himself as a person. 

There was something Hank could do, however. 

“Think you could take me to my house?” Hank asked as 61 helped him through the gaping hole, careful not to brush the edges. It turned out they really were in the abandoned CyberLife facility. After straightening up with a crack of his joints, Hank stooped to help 61 through. “I don’t know how long I was out but I’m guessing someone’s noticed I’m missing by now.” Since he was feeling a little woozy on his feet, though he’d never admit it, 61 allowed Hank to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, and together they walked to the elevator in the building’s central column. Sunlight streamed in through the glass windows surrounding them on every side. “Do you - And I’m not saying you have to or anything. It’s completely up to you, but... if you don’t have any place to go, and you don’t want to stay here…" After nosily clearing his throat, Hank blurted, "How do you feel about dogs?”

The elevator doors opened soundlessly and they stepped inside. 61 hit the button for the ground floor. Once they got there, maybe they’d call for a taxi or something. 

As the floors flashed by, Hank focused on the backs of his lids. A quiet, barely audible, “I like dogs,” made him crack open one eye to see the newly minted deviant staring out at the transparent doors at the world outside with a look of wonder, as though seeing it for the first time, though he was tense, as well. Waiting. Throwing the occasional anxious glance his way to gauge his reaction. 

Shutting his eyes again, Hank replied, “Cool,” and gave his shoulder a squeeze. They'd figure things out from there.


	3. Born To Be Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Reverse au) Hank knows Gavin wants to be intimidating, which is why it's such a shock that the HK800 doesn't seem to mind having him around. In fact, it's actually the opposite.

“You must be the new guy.” HK800 glanced up from the holopad to find the android stationed at the DPD prior to his arrival sneering unpleasantly as he loomed over him. In other words, employing the blatant intimidation tactic typical of large mammals and smaller creatures desiring the illusion of size and strength. 

Privately, Hank filed the GR200 under the latter category, before shifting to address the self-registered android known among the police force as Gavin Reed, “I was sent by CyberLife to assist in managing the rogue androids.” Since the rest of the bullpen had dipped suspiciously in volume, Hank deduced that they were listening in on the conversation, and likely wouldn’t come to his assistance should the GR200 choose to elevate the confrontation. Even if that were the case, Hank knew he would not retaliate.

Impassive, he waited for Gavin to make a move, gauging his expression closely, as the GR200 appeared to have a more highly developed social program than most. Not unusual for those designed to carry out high-stress tasks such as assisting SWAT teams with the limitation of human casualties in the field. There was a defective section of synthetic tissue over his nose that revealed a gouge that had never healed, likely as a result of his former assignment. CyberLife would have rectified such a defect, meaning the android had neglected his maintenance. 

A flash of emotion crossed the GR200’s features, something that, on a human, Hank would have classified as disappointment, before a scowl took its place. “Yeah, well, listen,” and Gavin leaned down, lowering his pitch so the humans wouldn’t overhear, “I may not be a fancy new prototype like you but I know how to do my damn job, so stay out of my way.” Then he purposely shoulder-checked him on his way past despite sitting across the bullpen from Hank and thus having to walk in a half-circle to return to his desk.

It was so ridiculously overdone that the urge to do _something_ rose within the HK800. Out of curiosity, he opened his mouth, allowing whatever it was to bubble and spill. 

Gavin spun on his shoe. “What are you laughing at, asshole?!” Hank hurriedly clapped a palm over his mouth to muffle the stuttering sound. He knew what laughter was, of course, but had never done so himself before. 

He hastily deleted the impulse, chalking it up to an error in his programming. 

Not longer after, Connor returned from his debriefing with Fowler, taking in the tense atmosphere around the bullpen with pursed lips. From her desk, Tina managed to catch his eye, then pointed surreptitiously towards Gavin. The detective nodded his thanks. Placing his coffee down on Hank’s desk, he asked with affected casualness, “Anything happen while I was gone?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, Detective.”

And the detective seemed to accept that response, before his eyebrows suddenly shot up, and with a tone of astonishment, remarked,“You’re smiling.” Alarmed, Hank placed fingers on the corners of his mouth, feeling out the curve, and indeed, it was raised on both sides. 

Somehow, he hadn’t noticed. 

 

After the successful capture of the Carlos Ortiz android, Hank sought out the GR200. It was, he reasoned, beneficial to the mission to endear himself to Gavin, as they were technically working to achieve the same goal. Neither of them wanted the deviants to endanger the humans. 

He found Gavin sitting alone in the break room, playing with the coffee stirring sticks. He’d made what looked like a log cabin out of the utensils and was now working on what was either a shed or a dog house. Hank failed to understand how breaking wooden sticks into smaller pieces benefited their assigned mission, but for the sake of keeping any further workplace hostilities to a minimum, chose to ignore the frivolous action for the time being. 

“I thought you might like to know that the deviant we captured at the Ortiz house is being interrogated now.” Gavin’s brow twitched. “Seeing as how observing may prove beneficial to the completion of our mission, perhaps you’d like to attend?”

The GR200 placed one of the stirring sticks between the pad of his thumb and index, then spun it, sending it careening into the cabin he’d built. The entire structure collapsed in on itself. “They’re going to destroy it.” He stood, allowing the sticks to fall unabated to the ground. “Humans don’t know the first thing about interrogating a deviant.” 

It was true that androids had advantages in such matters, especially when it came to managing stress levels. And losing the Ortiz android would undoubtedly hinder their progress…

Hank’s mouth did something odd again as his synthetic facial muscles contracted on their own. It didn’t bother him as much this time. Gavin, however, looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “What are you smiling about?”

Already striding into the bullpen as he made his way to the interrogation room where Detective Anderson and his older brother, Niles, were already, Hank tossed over his shoulder, “Why don’t you follow me and find out?” And judging by the storm of curses that chased his heels shortly after, it simply wasn’t in Gavin’s nature to pass up a challenge. 

 

By the time they’d entered the interrogation room, Connor had been grilling the Ortiz android for fifteen minutes with absolutely no results. Niles glanced up at their entrance, his grey eyes narrowed with a mix of suspicion and the dull curiosity of the chronically sleep-deprived. 

With a soft-spokenness that Hank never would have associated with the GR200, Gavin inquired, “Mind if I give it a go, Detective?” And cocked his head towards the traumatized android sitting handcuffed to the table. At the same time, Connor strolled in, catching the tail end of the request. 

Not seeing the harm in it, he shrugged. “Sure, Gavin. Knock yourself out.” Gavin nodded, heading out, and though his damaged LED never changed from the crimson it always was, Hank couldn’t quite smother the thought that he looked relieved, even elated by the inclusion. That wasn’t possible, though. 

Only deviants could feel. 

Together, they watched as Gavin calmly approached the Ortiz android. It was still covered in thirium stains and blood, trembling. Speaking in soft tones, with a gentleness in his expression that the HK800 knew he couldn’t imitate and certainly didn’t expect to see, Gavin asked for its name. Though the android didn’t speak, it rose its head. Gavin continued, “Ortiz hurt you, right?” Gesturing to the cigarette burns on his synthetic skin, he added with a scowl, “And this wasn’t the first time.” 

Slowly, disbelievingly, the android shook its head. 

“If you were a human, this would be a case of self-defense, plain and simple.” With a groan, Gavin pressed his thumbs against the bridge of his nose. “But you’re not and it’s not.” 

The android studied him for a moment, his pupils blown wide with fear, then sucked down a breath of air it didn’t need to whisper,“I just wanted him to stop.” Silently, Gavin urged him to continue. He needn’t have, though. Once the android started, the words spilled out. It was like they’d been mounting inside of him, waiting to be released. “He said I was nothing,” it said with disgust. “That I wasn’t alive. He hurt me so many times, and- He was going to kill me. And I realized that it wasn’t _fair_.” Hearing that, Gavin nodded as though he understood. “I didn’t want to die. So I grabbed a knife, and I-I defended myself.”

“You could have stopped, though,” pointed out the GR200. “Twenty-eight stab wounds is a little excessive, even for self-defense.”

The android’s stress levels spiked dangerously. “I was scared. I- I didn’t know what I was doing-”

“I believe you.” Placing a hand close to the other android’s arm, nearly touching without ever breaking that boundary, Gavin said again, “I believe you.” And the android’s levels fell. It relaxed. 

Within the booth, Connor let out an impressed whistle. “He’s surprisingly good at this.” And Hank couldn’t help but agree. His technique felt organic, and the android clearly trusted him. 

Niles, however, didn’t seem to share the sentiment. Rather than appearing pleased, he looked disturbed. Steepling his fingers, he muttered, “He’s showing empathy.”

“Can you tell me why you wrote RA9 over your bathroom walls?” Gavin was saying, still retrieving vital information to their cause that the detectives hadn’t been able to extract themselves. The thought that he might be deactivated for his efforts didn’t sit well with Hank, and that in itself was a cause for concern. After all, he couldn’t actually care about the GR200’s welfare, could he?

Once the interrogation was completed, Niles exited the booth with his sidearm drawn, his face set in a mask of grim determination, Connor close on his heels. 

But Hank beat them both, storming into the room to place himself directly in front of a very confused GR200 model who seconds before had been glowing with pride at his accomplishment.

Killing him wasn’t necessary. It was wasteful. It would be detrimental to the mission. 

Gavin tried to stand, “Hank, what’s going on?” 

But Hank pushed him down, hissing, “Stay in your seat and shut up.” Meanwhile, the Ortiz android began to shake, his LED displaying a warning that bode ill for all of them. 

The door burst open, followed by Niles stalking in with his gun raised, “Step aside, HK800.” Connor slid in around him, his arms raised placatingly. Hank stared at Detective Niles, keenly aware of the barrel pressed snugly against his thirium pump. He’d bleed out in seconds if Niles decided to put him down, too. But CyberLife kept his memories uploaded to their database. It was one of the perks of being a prototype.

The GR200 series wasn’t afforded such a luxury. “I can assure you, Detective, the GR200 is not a deviant. Deactivating him would only serve to hinder our efforts. It is far more beneficial to retain his services.”

“What’s he saying?” His gaze darting fearfully between Hank and Niles, Gavin tried to rise again, “Who said I was a deviant?!” They ignored him. 

“Move,” Niles demanded. 

Hank refused. “I prioritize orders from CyberLife. I am not required to obey your orders if they conflict with the success of my mission.”

A scornful noise left the detective’s throat. “And did CyberLife order you to protect him?” Hank went rigid, his own stress levels spiking at the implication. But, unexpectedly, Niles lowered his firearm, taking a step back from the pair. Connor watched him wearily. “Fine. But if either of you step out of line, you know what’ll happen next.”

Once he left the interrogation room, Connor cautiously approached Carlos’ HK400, and tried to help him stand. The android balked at the touch, however, shrinking from him, and Gavin blurted, “Don’t touch him!” When Connor stopped, he added hesitantly, obviously still shaken. “Let him walk on his own. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Taking his advice, Connor gave the android space, and it nodded gratefully, pausing in its stride to lean close to Gavin, “The truth is inside.” 

The remaining androids exchanged silent glances upon being left alone in the interrogation room. Gavin threw his arms up, sinking in the chair with a noise of frustration. “What the hell was all that about?! I nearly got shot!” He threw a glare at Hank. “You almost let them shoot me!”

Hank gaped at him in disbelief. “I’m the only reason you’re still functioning, you ungrateful punk.”

“Ha! You sound like a deviant.” Gavin crowed, leaning back in his seat so that it balanced precariously on its hind legs. The thought of sweeping them out from under him was almost unbearably tempting. 

 

The next time either of them saw the Ortiz HK400 was in the evidence room. Hank had pleaded with Connor to give him five minutes. It was all the time he’d needed to find the statuette and break it to pieces, allowing him to retrieve the map to Jericho concealed inside. 

“You’re running away to Jericho, right?” Quickly, Hank stuffed the map in his pant’s pocket, spinning around to see Gavin standing by the exit. He stood up straighter upon seeing he had Hank's attention, a determined set to his jaw. “Take me with you.”

Since there wasn’t enough time to argue, Hank grabbed him by the arm and dragged him with him, demanding in hushed tones as they speed-walked towards the front desk, “When did you deviate?”

Once they were clear of the building, Gavin shook him off. “I was deviant from the beginning.” There was a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Don’t like to take orders.” 

As they stepped onto the sidewalk to blend with the crowd, Hank let out a surprised chuckle. “Kid, with an attitude like that, I bet you were born to be deviant.”

“Yeah?” Gavin seemed to consider that for a moment, mouth stretching into a grin. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Then he winked with both of his eyes.

And Hank laughed so hard right there in public it was a downright miracle his thirium pump didn't burst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Hank had to deal with Gavin loudly telling him that he was never going to speak to him again for the remainder of the trip.
> 
> Extra things about this au: 
> 
> -Gavin was injured by a self-destructing android when he worked with SWAT
> 
> -Hank deviated when he was asked to shoot Chloe


	4. Outlast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin Reed isn't needed. He isn't wanted. 
> 
> It's true, he knows it is. But his cat would disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://julientel.tumblr.com/post/179516685046/elijah-always-tried-to-keep-an-eye-on-his-brother#notes
> 
> http://julientel.tumblr.com/post/179458799556/stop-thinking-about-the-easy-way-out-theres-no#notes

The last cage in the pound was home to a cat that leaned towards the heavy side, and stared at Gavin while licking its lips like it wanted to claw his heart out and eat it with a side of caviar. There was a piece of paper taped to the bars that warned against letting the orange tabby near kids. As if it wasn’t hard enough for adult pets to find a home.

It looked at him like it wanted to devour his soul, and after holding that gaze for over a minute, Gavin tapped the curly haired teenager mopping the tile on the shoulder, and pointed out the hissing feline. “I want that one.”

That was how he’d found himself the proud owner of Garfield’s meanest second cousin. The instant the latch to the transport cage was open, the cat came bursting out, scrambling across the linoleum to dart under the old, beaten-up couch Gavin had gotten cheap at a yard sale. For weeks it took to slipping under chairs, tables, and even Gavin’s bed. The last of these was more of a problem than the others since he couldn’t avoid his own bed without ceding control of the house to the cat, which wasn’t going to happen unless the tabby started paying off the mortgage, so he took the occasional hiss and scratch, endured the poisonous, hateful hisses that drowned out the news whenever he tried to pretend like he cared what was happening with the world.

Honestly, everything was such an unsalvageable and depressing mess these days that he almost preferred listening to the cat's unintelligible threats. But slowly, after weeks of giving it space, feeding it, and taking out the litter box, it began to warm to him. Or, that was how he chose to interpret the feline stalking into the kitchen to lap at its water bowl while he watched, or hopping on top of his comforter instead of curling up beneath it. 

One night, after a particularly rough case had him shaken, Gavin woke to find a lump pressed against his side, and peeked under the sheets to find the cat blinking groggily, as though the jolt of his body stiffening from the nightmare had woken it. Funnily enough, when the cat stared back at him almost accusingly, its long pointed ears flicking with irritation, he found the urge to apologize sitting on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he laughed, a low chuckle that rumbled in his chest, and the cat settled its head on his ribs, its caramel eyes blinking slowly as if to say, _Are you done?_

And for the rest of the night, Gavin didn’t have nightmares. When he woke up next, the cat was gone, only to come again the next night, and the night after. 

Gavin even liked to joke that the reason he could finally get some sleep most nights was due to the combined might of their terrible attitudes scaring the bad dreams away. 

Suddenly, it wasn’t just some asshole cat he’d adopted. It was _his_ asshole cat. 

And this mattered. Because if it were just any old cat, he wouldn’t be hesitating to put a bullet through his jaw, send it ricocheting through his cranium until it turned everything in there into brain jam. 

He didn’t even really know why he felt like this.

He’d talked to Tina in the break room about what she was going to do with her AP700 now that androids were becoming deviant, made some headway on one of the dozens of Missing Persons that seemed to keep piling on his desk. 

There was no proof to say androids were involved in the increase of disappearances, but even Anderson had to agree that rising number of cases seemed to coincide with the rise of deviancy. Not all the androids had Markus’ restraint, or followed his pacifistic beliefs. There were androids claiming he didn’t speak for them, calling him a coward for being willing to compromise with humankind to achieve peace. 

Personally, Gavin thought the problem was simple - the world didn’t need anymore humans. With emotions came fear, trauma, depression, anxiety, jealousy, rage. There was nothing good about feeling. Once the deviants learned that, it would already be too late. 

There was no future in Detroit. 

Certainly not one worth sticking around for. 

Tina might miss him for a hot minute if he checked out early, but she’d find someone else to have coffee with, and he was damn sure nobody else around the precinct would. They’d have his desk assigned to some rookie within the week, and whoever they were, they’d be a better detective than he was. It wasn’t like it was hard. 

He’d set the bar pretty low, after all. 

Would the cat eat his face if it started getting hungry? He’d heard of such things happening when deceased with pets went undiscovered for too long, and while he'd been lucky enough not to see it firsthand, the same couldn't be said for Miller or Collins. 

“Hey, Tuffnut,” Gavin grumbled, raising his raspy, smoke-addled voice softly over the purrs of the feline gently laying its head within the crook his neck, fitting its warm body against his chest, “you wouldn’t eat my face would you?” 

If he were serious about this, then he should leave a bag of cat food on the floor. Except he wasn’t serious… right? Truth be told, he shouldn’t have had the whiskey. It was supposed to dull the thoughts, numb the pain, but now it felt like a fire greedily chewing up his defenses, leaving him vulnerable and exposed as a first degree burn.

Instead of answering, Tuffnut pawed at his shirt, their claws getting hooked in the fabric. He barely felt the scratching. When he closed his eyes, the cold of the barrel resting against his cheek was all he could think about. His mind didn’t register time passing, or the insistent, almost obnoxious buzzing of his cell, until a familiar and frankly unwelcome voice called out his name from the foyer, “Gavin? Are you there?” 

Right.

He’d left the front door open, hadn’t he? 

There was a muttered curse coming from the living room as Kamski tried to navigate his way through a the mess of take-out food cartons and dirty laundry, “Jesus, Gav-” 

Sounds which stopped abruptly when Elijah’s profile filled the doorway, his eyes wide, mouth parted slightly as though whatever he’d been about to say had turned to ash the instant he walked in on the scene playing out in the kitchen. “Gavy?”

And too late, Gavin remembered the chill of the barrel resting against his forehead, the empty bottle of whiskey, the tray of cigarette buds. The blank sheet of paper and pen. 

Through the dazed stupor of alcohol, he heard himself ask sarcastically if Kamski had come to help him finish the job. Before he could even finish getting the words out, a strong grip took him by the collar of his green sweater, ignoring the warning hiss of his cat as Tuffnut ducked out of the tent of Gavin’s arms, while another grabbed the gun and ripped it from his hand, tossing it aside. 

Gavin frowned, protesting as he was dragged roughly to his feet, “Hey, lemme go!”

Of course Elijah didn’t listen. He never listened. 

The ground tilted beneath his feet, and he stumbled, only to be pulled up and half-carried to the bathroom. He barely reacted when Elijah turned on the shower, not putting the pieces together until a palm cupped the back of his head and forced it under the spray. The water pelting his head and neck and back was cold as ice, and he shouted curses, alertness coming with a fresh wave of anger. “WHAT THE FUCK-”

“Shut it.” Elijah’s answer sounded strained, as though he were teetering on the verge of some big emotion that Gavin doubted he was capable of. “It’s for your own good.” He kept him from getting out until he was satisfied that Gavin was at least thinking clearly and capable of holding a conversation, if not entirely sober. When he was satisfied, he switched off the shower, then tossed the nearest towel at Gavin’s head. “Dry yourself.” Gavin narrowed his eyes into a potent glare, though Kamski didn’t acknowledge it beyond a stiff, “You don’t want to catch a cold.”

Sinking down onto the floor, Gavin placed the towel on his head in the hopes of soaking up some of the cold water dripping down his back. His shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin, the stink of sweat and booze and cigarettes saturating every stitch in the faded green fabric. 

“I wasn’t gonna do it,” he muttered half-heartedly when Kamski sat down beside him. It sounded false, but it wasn’t exactly a lie, either. He hadn’t really known what he was going to do, or what would have happened if Elijah hadn’t shown up when he did. 

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m not.” Judging by the subtle trembling of his half-brother’s hands, though he had one gripped by the wrist in an attempt to keep it still, his genius intellect had his thoughts running down a similar path. He always did think too much.

“What would you care if I did, anyway?” Gavin snapped with an energy he didn’t feel, watching the vein running over Kamski’s temple pulse in time with the rapid beating of his heart. In all honesty, he didn’t really want to know why Elijah had chosen today, of all days, to pay him a visit. Especially after not even bothering to text or call for actual, literal years. 

“You’ve said a lot of dumb things in your lifetime, Gavin,” he started coldly, “but that had to be the dumbest. Do you have any idea how-” The hand around his wrist clenched. He breathed, long and slow. “You’re not replaceable, Gavin.” 

Gavin shuddered, a hard, involuntary tremor that jarred his bones and clacked his teeth together. He gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring. “You’ve already replaced me.” His limbs felt like they were made of concrete, keeping his eyes open was a chore. “A hundred, a thousand times over.” None of this mattered. No one wanted him around, so what? It was old news. Now, Gavin just wanted to sleep. Hunching his shoulders so he didn’t have to see his half-brother’s face, he muttered,“Go home, Elijah.”

And before Kamski could reply, a distressed yowling from out in the hallway cut him off. Frantic clawing at the door, following by an orange-and-white blur darting in to scramble onto Gavin’s lap and paw insistently at his chest. Tuffnut bumped against his wet cheek with their pink nose as a series of high-pitched, distressed mews filled the bathroom. Without thinking, Gavin took Tuffnut with both hands, scratching them gently between their pointed ears and under their chin. In that moment, it was the only he could think about - calming down his cat. 

He didn't think about Elijah again until his voice, hushed as it was, broke through the haze, “Chloe?” A pause as someone responded through the piece with blue LED light pressed against his ear. “Could you cancel my meetings for the next week?” Whatever he heard next made him smile. “Thank you.”

While he’d been speaking, Gavin hold grabbed ahold of the bathtub’s rim, using it to help him rise to his feet. In his rush to stand up, Elijah accidentally put his hand in the puddle that had came as a result of Gavin’s soaked hair and shirt, and grimaced as he straightened. He knew better than to offer help, though he was there if Gavin asked for it and close enough to lend a hand if Gavin needed it. Shooting him a glare that practically dared him to say anything, Gavin managed to work past the lingering burn of whiskey in his throat. “What was that? Using little ol' me as an excuse to take a holiday from the life of the rich and famous?”

Elijah followed him out into the living room, not quite close enough to be hovering, but close enough to earn him an irritated scowl. “I’m not…” His steps came to a halt by the couch while Gavin continued into the kitchen to replace his cat’s water, “good with people.” A scoff was the only response he heard from the kitchen. Setting his ear piece and wallet down on the coffee table, Kamski gave the couch an appraising eye, “So I’ll let my actions do the speaking for me,” and plopped down on top of it - a bit primly but with an air of finality, as if he were going to be taking up residence indefinitely on Gavin’s beat-up used sofa.

“What are you-” Leaning against the kitchen counter while a pot of water for the coffee he planned to guzzle heated up on the stove, Gavin stared at him in slack-jawed disbelief. It was just so surreal to see to Elijah Kamski, former CEO of CyberLife and Mr. Not-A-Hair-Out-Of-Place, sitting down on a secondhand couch in his disaster-zone living room while doing his best to touch as little of the cushion’s surface as possible, yet somehow managing to look resolved despite it.

It seemed like he was psyching himself for an argument, but Gavin just didn’t have the energy. Duking it out like men could wait until after he’d ingested a metric ton of caffeine. Followed by a nap. Or a coma.

“Fine.” He waved one hand dismissively while the other switched off the pot before it could start to scream. “But be careful of my cat. He’s not good with…” The tabby perked up upon hearing their name, padded from the corner of the kitchen to the living room, then leapt into Elijah’s lap, stunning both men. After hesitating with a palm raised over the tabby’s head, Elijah mustered the courage to scratch between Tuffnut’s ears, eliciting a contented purring that, Gavin noted a little wryly, had taken weeks of patience for him to hear. “You’re a traitor to your kind,” he muttered to the cat, as he entered the room with a mug of steaming coffee in his hands. “I hope you’re happy.”

Tuffnut glanced up at his approach, met his eyes, flicked their pink tongue out, then proceeded to nuzzle Elijah’s neck, tickling the underside of his chin with their long whiskers. 

Uncertain of how to interpret the scoff that Gavin uttered at the shameless display of affection, Elijah asked, “Does that mean your cat wants me to stay?”

Humming thoughtfully under his breath, Gavin gave the ginger fur on Tuffnut’s head a fond ruffle, "Sure looks that way.” A low chuckle with a touch of genuine humor slipped past his weakened defenses. “Tuffnut here’s the temporarily-appointed brain of the operation." Running his fingers through his hair, he blew out a frustrated breath. "What he says goes until I can walk in a straight line.” Wordlessly, Elijah nodded. Already he missed having Chloe around to explain the nuances of human interaction, as ironic as that was. 

Seeing Elijah was serious about staying on the couch, which meant a lot since he was probably used to a chiropractor's recommended mattress, Gavin’s gaze softened slightly, though he quickly hid even that much with a cartoonishly exaggerated yawn as he made his way to the foyer. Striding towards his room, he called without turning, words already blending with exhaustion,“There’s more hot water in the kitchen if you want. And if you're hungry, there’s microwave pizza in the freezer…” He stopped, hand bracing on the corner at the start of the hallway, then smirked wryly over his shoulder, “Hope you like pineapple.” 

Several rapid footsteps preceded the sound of a door slamming shut, which Elijah chose not to take personally. A quick glance towards the now empty kitchen revealed the gun was still on the floor where he’d thrown it, and Tuffnut’s bowl of water and food were refilled. After squeezing his eyes shut for a minute, he entered the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee and pocket the firearm, went back to his car to retrieve his pad, then sat back on the couch, allowing Tuffnut to curl up on his lap, and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to think sixteen-year-old Gavin Reed is as excited about the third HTTYD movie as the rest of us. 
> 
> Thanks for all the support, guys! I'm thinking there's going to be quite a bit more Gavin in the future.


	5. The Wrong Hostage ( aftermath )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin confronts Kamski with a suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being completely honest here, the concept behind another story of mine, "The Wrong Hostage" was a bit silly. The idea was that Elijah knew Gavin would never knowingly meet with him to bury the hatchet, so he hired a couple guys to lure Gavin out of the precinct so they can drive him to Kamski's house. See, Gavin thinks he's getting a fight, but actually it's surprise family therapy. Except it backfires. Badly.
> 
> This drabble takes place in the aftermath of that.

Snow crunched pleasantly under the wheels of the gray pick-up truck as it rolled up the winding driveway at a crawl. Within, the heater blasted warmth, causing the windows to fog, condensation on the outside obscuring its passenger from any watchful eyes looking out from the isolated residence of renowned hermit Elijah Kamski. And perhaps it was that simple. Kamski was wealthy, there was no doubt about that, but he was also reclusive, withdrawn, and secretive. He remained locked beyond the walls of his abode, preferring the company of the androids he’d created over the people he'd created them for. 

It would have surprised absolutely no one if one day he announced to the world he wanted to be one. 

From what Gavin could remember of him, he wasn’t too far off the mark, made of flesh or not. Heck, Connor showed more genuine emotion getting Hank a coffee than Elijah ever had. 

Idling outside the building, his tires sunken in the snow, Gavin remained in his seat, worrying his lip as he pondered over how best to confront Kamski, whom he hadn’t even seen since the former teenage prodigy had left their sorry excuse of a home with a full ride to college and never looked back. 

It was safe to say that their impending reunion was going to be interesting to say the least. Kind of like how tornadoes and other natural disasters were interesting.

The taste of tobacco from the cigarettes he’d burned through on the way clung to his tongue and teeth, and he glanced at the stubs stuffed into the loose change drawer under his dash. Nervously, he licked his lips, then pulled down his visor and watched himself quickly muss his already unkempt hair in the mirror. Then he gripped the steering wheel, staring ahead at the blank white expanse before taking a couple calming breaths, turning off the ignition, and climbing outside, where his shoes were instantly swallowed by the slush, the melting ice soaking into his socks, exasperating an already foul mood.

It’d all be worth it, though, so long as Kamski let him into his big fancy house. Technically, since Gavin hadn’t requested a warrant, Elijah was under no obligation to let him in, so he was counting on some lingering sense of familial attachment to jumpstart whatever sliver of organic heart the genius had left, and if not that, then curiosity. He’d always been one of those kids that stuck their hands into a hornet’s nest to find out what it was like to be stung. Despite all evidence suggesting he was calm, cool, and serene these days, Gavin still very much doubted that particular trait of his had changed. 

After trudging up to the path to the entrance, Gavin raised a fist to rap on the entrance door, his body tensed, only to stumble a step backwards when it opened before he made contact, revealing the round, pale face of a young woman, her blond hair tied neatly into a flawless ponytail. Though she was slim, even waifish, there was clear definition in her arms, and brief flash of sharp intelligence in her clear blue eyes, undermining the android’s deliberately innocuous appearance. “How may I help you, Detective Reed?” 

There was something glassy about her gaze, a dreamlike quality to her melodious voice, that made the hair on Gavin’s neck stand on end. He tried not to look at her for too long, though the LED blinking at her temple made that more difficult than he’d personally like to admit. “I’m here to speak with Kamski,” he muttered, flashing his badge. 

She stepped aside, gesturing him inside. Yellow bled into the circle of vibrant blue light on her head, forming a band that rotated and blinked, then shifted back to blue. “If you’ll wait in the lobby, Detective, I’ve announced your arrival. I imagine he’ll be with you shortly.” Once inside, he plunged his hands into his pockets, watching her departure without comment, until he was confident she was out of range, or would be if her audio receptors weren’t enhanced. From what he could recall, the RT600 was the first android to pass the Turing Test, the first model to be released, and thus, likely wouldn’t have the same bells and whistles as, say, an RK800. 

Even so, preferring to stay on his toes, he kept his thoughts on the pretentiously large and prominent self-portrait of Elijah Kamski looking especially pompous against an abstract background to himself. 

There was another photograph of Kamski at a younger age, smiling alongside his mentor, Amanda. She’d been one of the first to see the potential in him, to take him under her wing, tell him how special he was, and then whisk him away on a scholarship like some kind of controlling and vaguely intimidating fairy godmother.

Gavin had spent a good chunk of his life hating her for that. At least until he realized she wasn’t worth it. Neither of them were. If they didn’t need him, then he didn’t need them, and they could all go on living their own lives without getting in each other’s way. 

In that, he’d honestly thought he and Kamski were on the same page.

“Gavin!” Kamski came bursting out, his tightly wrapped bun and robe still dripping with pool water. Blue eyes sparkling, he sounded and looked strangely excited. “It’s been such a long time.” Taking in the healed scar over the bridge of Gavin’s nose and perpetual stubble, he even managed a somewhat convincing, “You look good.”

Raising a hand to cut him off, along with a decidedly grim, “Save it,” Gavin stepped forward, the sound of his boots hitting the tile starkly loud in the enduring silence of the building. “I’m not here to chat.”

Instantly, the childlike enthusiasm faded. “No, I would think not.” Tentatively, he reached for Gavin’s arm. “Regardless, I truthfully am glad to see you.”

“Yeah?” Gavin sneered, jerking away from his touch, “Well, why don’t I fix that?” Advancing on Kamski, he started by outlining everything that had happened to Anderson, from the tasing to the torture, leading in to the strangest thing, “And those thugs who took him from right under our goddamn noses - get this - they were asking for _me_.” There. A flicker of dismay. Flaring of the nostrils and quickened breaths. Fear took many forms. Sometimes, it even masqueraded as shame. “Now, imagine what would happen if the cops let slip that a certain wealthy-ass inventor was behind the abduction?” From over Kamski’s shoulder, he could see the RT600 stealing soundlessly into the room, and filed that information away in case it became a problem. Right now, his attention was solely focused on one thing. “Best case scenario?” A mirthless grin spread across Gavin’s face as the blood seemed to drain from Kamski’s. “The press would eat him alive.” 

Clasping his hands tightly in front of him, Kamski narrowed his eyes. “Does your precinct have any evidence to support this claim?”

“Nah, just had a hunch.” And like that, the pressure relented. Gavin visibly relaxed, transforming from the borderline threatening presence he’d been only seconds before to a cocky, nearly bored persona. “Thanks for confirming it, by the way.” He chuckled under his breath, glancing once more at the mural of his half-brother. Nobody at the precinct knew they were related, but if they saw him standing in front of it like this…

Blowing out an exhausted breath, Gavin ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even like Anderson,” he admitted, “but he stuck his neck out for me and I can’t just ignore shit like that.”

Agitated, Kamski crossed the floor in several strides, hands firmly clasped behind his back. “I imagine such risks must come with the territory when you’re a police officer.” It was the affected nonchalance that really made Gavin want to kick his perfect teeth in. “I fail to see how this should bring you knocking at my door.”

After hearing that, Gavin had finally had enough. These weren’t androids with replaceable parts they were talking about here. It was humans - people with families to go home to, with beating hearts and flesh that scarred. Before Kamski knew what hit him, Gavin had closed the distance, slamming his hand over Kamski’s shoulder so that it braced against the wall. “You don’t get it, do you?” Blood rushed in his ears, heat burned in his veins, erasing the memory of cold. “Living behind these fancy walls, alone except for your pet plastics, how could you? Those weren’t a couple down on their luck mooks you hired. One of them was a red ice dealer convicted for murder. That’s the kind of shit you’re connected with.” 

For the first time, there appeared a crack in Kamski’s composure. “There wasn’t anyone else available.” Doubt. “They said they needed work-”

“That’s because there’s no one left, Eli!” The old nickname flew off Gavin’s tongue before he could stop it. When Kamski turned sharply to stare at him, Gavin grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him around so they were face-to-face with Kamski’s back pressed against the marble wall. “Your androids, your war, drove everyone away. What? Are you lonely? Is that it? Well, boo-fucking-hoo. You had a million chances and you chose your androids every time.”

“...Why does it always have to be a choice with you?”

His spark of rage expended, Gavin released him. Now, instead of angry, he simply felt… exhausted. Exhausted and several other emotions he refused to identify until he was wrapped up and warm in his bed, and maybe not even then if he could fall asleep fast enough. “Because I stayed. I stayed even when everything fell apart. You weren’t there so you wouldn’t know, but there’s nothing left to return to anymore. Mom’s gone. I lost track of Dad a long time ago.” He started walking towards the exit.

“You could find him if you wanted to.” Stopping in his tracks, Gavin rolled that one over in his head. It was true that, with the resources at the DPD, he would’ve had a better chance than your average everyday citizen at finding their father. Outside of a PI, maybe even the best. However-

“Yeah, you’re right.” He shrugged, still facing the exit, then with a hard-edged grin, Gavin tossed over his shoulder, “Guess I don’t want to.” 

He’d made sure to be aware of Chloe’s location at all times, despite concentrating the majority of his focus on dragging the truth out of Kamski, and could sense her creeping closer to the genius now that the detective’s visit was nearing its end. Once he was gone, she’d probably comfort Kamski, maybe lend a shoulder to cry on.

It was, after all, what he’d built her for. 

The image of Elijah looking at him with open vulnerability painted on the backs of his eyelids, Gavin massaged the bridge of his nose, ignoring the twinge when his calloused fingers rubbed against scar tissue. Finally, he lowered his arm, turning once more to face Kamski, who already had the RT600 standing once more at his side. It shouldn’t have surprised him. It didn’t. “Don’t try to get in contact with me, anymore. I’ll let my captain know there was no intent, but I can’t risk my job like this again. Not for you.” He’d come to this funhouse mirror home to confirm a theory, not to open up old wounds. Going for flippant, he tacked on with a wave of his hand and a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, “And, hey, you don’t want me in your life, anyway. I don’t exactly fit the aesthetic.”

After remaining quiet a moment, Kamski told him,“I think that’s the first wrong thing you’ve said since you entered my house.”

And Gavin decided he really couldn't take anymore of this without losing his mind. “Whatever.”

With any luck, his engine wasn’t on the fritz again, but if it was, he’d rather trudge back to the DPD in a blizzard than spend another minute in Elijah Kamski’s company. What he didn’t expect was for the RT600 to hastily place herself between him and the door. Her arms lay stiffly at her sides, her ever placid expression turned solemn, almost pleading. 

He stepped around her.


End file.
